


Glitter and Gold

by tsukara (AndThenTheresAnne)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, Female Friendship, Gen, Pretty Dresses, no editing we die like the heroes we are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 05:38:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14805386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndThenTheresAnne/pseuds/tsukara
Summary: Wandering Europe with Reinhardt there hadn't been much call for nice dresses. Now that there is for an important event, Brigitte seeks--and finds, unexpectedly--a little bit of help with picking out a flattering dress.





	Glitter and Gold

“Angela, I don’t think this is going to work.” She couldn’t quite keep the edge of desperation out of her voice.

On the surface, the invitation was to a charity gala, a chance for a load of rich and powerful people to go drink wine, eat tiny foods, and contemplate the tax breaks they were getting with their ‘charitable giving’. The reality was much more tangled and political and, in the end, important. These days, any ins they could get with the world community were important ones, and a few former members had ended up with invitations.

The fact that Overwatch was still clandestine meant that no one who was officially part of Overwatch back in the day was invited, unless they went under some other hat, like Angela and her samaritan missions, or Fareeha and her work with Helix security. Brigitte didn’t know exactly how Reinhardt had rated one, but that was the one he decided to pass on to her, making noise about being too old for the nonsense of flashy parties. Several of the others involved with post-recall Overwatch were going as well, in new capacities, but it was decided that as many ears and eyes and good examples as possible be sent along for this event.

Brigitte wanted to find something to wear that would do for an event of this type, was actually kind of looking forward to this party, beforehand… but now?

All she wanted to do was go put on her oldest, rattiest sweats and sit in a corner somewhere dark eating sweets. Brigitte loved her body, even before the fierce workouts Reinhardt had started putting her through when she said she wanted to fight at his side. She loved every curve of her muscles, her powerful legs, even the small bit of fat that clung to her tummy and thighs no matter what. She had grown up being a tomboy wearing bright sundresses and climbing trees in pretty clothes, but somewhere between the workshop and wandering Europe she’d fallen into a habit of wearing only clothing that was much more practical, less pretty. And she certainly didn’t have any formal dresses anymore.

She had gone to Angela for help. The woman was practically family, an older foster sister around the age of some of her other siblings, and had a great sense of fashion. Angela had been more than happy to help, ordering a slew of dresses to be delivered. When Brigitte pointed out that she only needed the one, Angela waved this concern off, pointing out that any she didn’t like, they would just send back.

The trouble was, every single dress Angela was handing to her made her look more and more brick-like every moment. “Maybe I should just get a gray one. Tell people I’m dressing up as a boulder.”

Angela frowned, clearly as vexed by this as Brigitte was, though in different, less personal ways. “Don’t say that. The dark green one looked very nice on you! Put that one on again, we’ll put some proper shoes on you and see how it looks then.”

Brigitte sighed, but went back into Angela’s room where a plethora of discarded dresses draped over every available surface, plucking the sleek forest green number from the pile on the bed. Pulling off the latest reject (with a minimum of swearing, since this time she didn’t get her hair stuck in a zipper), she shimmied into the sleek green number, zipping it up. At least everything fit, since Angela knew her measurements. But that didn’t mean any of them looked good. Looking at herself in Angela’s half-length mirror, she sighed again, shook her head and went out to show her friend. 

The bateau neck should have been flattering, but instead made her feel wide. The long fall of green silky fabric should have made her feel like she was floating elegantly, but all it made her feel like was that she was pretending to be a tree. Appropriately, her legs felt like two tree trunks poking out of the high-low hem of the bottom.

Even worse, the hall was no longer empty. Zarya, the sometimes-brusque Russian woman who had joined the group on a few missions lately (though the tension between her and some of the others, Torbjorn and Genji especially, was sometimes palpable) was just coming down the hall towards the rooms. Angela glanced at the new arrival, then turned her attention back to Brigitte, who submitted herself for inspection. “Well, that’s not too bad. The color brings out your hair?”

Which Brigitte knew was true, but least-worst was not exactly what she was looking for. “I look ridiculous, Angela. This is _hopeless_.”

While this stage of the fashion show was going on, Zarya had joined them, clearly curious, her expression hovering somewhere between chagrin and amusement. “You are not trying to look ridiculous?”

She seemed genuinely curious, which made the feeling all the worse when Brigitte felt the tears spring to her eyes. Angela immediately rounded on the other woman. “She looks _lovely_ , we are just…” She trailed off, looking at Brigitte who seemed to be trying not to tear up. 

Zarya cut off whatever Angela had been about to continue with. “You are right, you are very pretty girl, Lindholm, but that dress?” She shook her head. “All wrong for you.”

Brigitte stifled the urge to say ‘I told you so’ to Angela, instead replying with “See, Angela, I’m just not meant for fancy party dresses anymore.”

Angela began to argue, to reassure, but before she could even begin Zarya reached out and grabbed Brigitte’s wrist. “No, not true. Come, I will show you.”

With a bewildered look at Angela, Brigitte let herself be led down the hall toward where Zarya had her quarters. Things were a lot more spacious these days, with so few people about, so even people who weren’t in Gibraltar all the time kept rooms around. Angela followed the other two, just as confused as Brigitte, but willing all the same.

Palming open the lock, Zarya let go of Brigitte, stranding her in the middle of the unfamiliar room. If she had felt awkward in this dress before, this had just compounded it. Angela stood in the doorway, hesitant, until Zarya, sliding open her small closet, gave her a look. “Were you born in an elevator? Come in if you are coming.” Angela obeyed.

Brigitte gave Angela a look that plainly asked if she knew what was going on, and the look she got back made it clear she had no idea. Zarya, for her part, missed this as she rummaged around in her closet. Coats made up a large part of what Brigitte could see, from lighter ones to thick parkas even Mei would appreciate, but the other woman seemed to be going for something in the back. “Ah! There it is. I knew that I still had this.”

She emerged holding a bundle of cloth, the color similar to what Brigitte was wearing, though brighter, with a hint of gold. “You are still wearing that?” She asked, indicating with a nod of her head to the frock Brigitte currently wore. “No, is no good. Take it off.”

Brigitte stared at Zarya, who didn’t seem to be giving any leeway in what sounded like an order. Throwing a look at Angela, who gave a helpless shrug, Brigitte gave in, turning around for the slightest illusion of privacy while she pull off the dress that Angela had put her in. When she was standing in just her strapless bra and panties again, she turned around, blushing. Without another word, Zarya thrust the bundle of cloth into her hands which, when Brigitte turned back around with it, resolved itself into a dress. _Here we go again_ , she thought, and began to figure out the fastenings and fittings of this latest infliction of fashion.

It was something like a halter dress, a necklace-like collar fitting around her neck, with green-gold fabric flowing down from the front of it. There was a belt at the waist in a similar style to the collar; on Brigitte it was a little loose, even on the closest clasp, but she mused that that was rare enough that it could be fixed. From there, the dress flowed freely to the floor, pooling around her feet. Definitely a bit too long for her, _but that’s what heels are for_ , she thought. It certainly felt better than anything Angela had ordered, but what remained was the look of the thing, she supposed.

She turned, planting a hand on her waist, a nervous habit of hers. “Well?”

Zarya looked her up and down, then nodded, looking satisfied. It was Angela’s reaction that Brigitte was most interested in though. When she took in the whole thing, her face lit up and she clapped her hands delightedly, rising up on her toes practically as if she was in her Valkyrie suit. “Oh, Brigitte, it’s beautiful!”

“It is?”

Zarya, grinning, gestured her to a full-length mirror on the other side of the room. “See for yourself.” 

Picking up the dress so that she didn’t step on it and tear the fabric, Brigitte approached, nervous, expecting to be disappointed. The woman that stared back at her from the mirror, though, it surprised her. The dress was beautiful on her, beautiful and flowing and elegant, the slim long lines seeming to turn her into some kind of goddess. Her arms looked toned and muscular, instead of popping of out a too-short sleeve, and when she turned, her back was a long and elegant line, bracketed by the two filigreed fittings.

“There, see?” Zarya sounded just a little smug. “A very pretty girl.”

Angela was on Brigitte soon afterward, examining the garment, fanning out the delicate-looking skirt with her fingers, pinching up a bit of the belt and muttering about adjustments. Astonished, she looked back at Zarya. “Wherever did you find such a dress?” And whyever had she had it, the unspoken question lingered.

Zarya leaned back against the door, her air of smugness only growing. “I am famous woman in Russia. Sometimes, they like me to go to things where I am needed to be decoration too. Besides, I am strongest woman there is. I too like to be beautiful more traditionally, sometimes.”

Brigitte grinned at her, having noticed her always-perfectly manicured hands and meticulously up-kept hair, along with the large weapon and utilitarian field clothes. This was a whole new level, and Brigitte was delighted by the discovery of it. “Is there any way I could borrow this, Zarya? Just for a little bit. There’s this gala, you see--”

Zarya was already waving her off. “No no, take it, is yours. Is old, no longer fits me here,” she gestured to her neck, which was indeed a little bulkier than Brigitte’s own. “I have others.”

“Do you now?” Angela was obviously curious, and Brigitte could practically see the wheels in her head turning. If she wasn’t coming up with an excuse for some excursion of formal wear in the next week Brigitte would eat her armor. 

“I do, but,” Zarya looked aside at the clock next to the bed. “I think you are having places to be, correct?”

Angela followed her line of sight and, though she sighed with disappointment, nodded, as Zarya was correct--even if she hadn’t intended to be. “Yes, I suppose so.”

She turned toward the door to leave, but Brigitte lagged behind for one more moment. “You’re sure about the dress?”

The other woman reached out to pat her reassuringly on the arm. “Like I said, it is very beautiful on a beautiful girl like you. You should keep it.”

On impulse, Brigitte hugged the other woman, who startled, then gave her a brief squeeze back. “Thank you so much!” 

“You’re welcome. Now go, find some proper shoes you can still run in.” Beaming from ear to ear, Brigitte gathered the skirts of the dress in her hands and ran off to do just that, then paused when Zarya continued. "And next time, I can show you how to paint your nails."

Brigitte looked forward to it.

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write Mercy and Zarya and Brigitte being friends and talking about girl stuff and body confidence and so here we go.


End file.
